Out of the Eater
by Tale-of-winter
Summary: Belle goes on a walk and ends up somewhere she didn't know she had the bravery to go.


Part 1

She'd had enough of Mary Margaret's living room, of her couch, of the hum the lamps, and of the sound of her neighbors knocking around downstairs. Isabel had come to stay with Mary Margaret and the Sheriff as she had no where else to go. Emma had threatened to throw her in jail rather than let her go back to stay with her father, but she had no money to take up residence elsewhere and the doctors had argued that it wasn't a good idea for her to live by herself just yet. She would be readjusting to the outside world, they argued, for who knows how long. Someone would need to be there to make sure that she'd done all of the little things that made one a functioning human being. Isabel resented the implication that she couldn't take care of herself, but went meekly with Mary Margaret and Emma to sleep on the couch.

Three weeks in and she was tired of being cooped up in the apartment. She was alone for most of the day, most days. Mary Margaret left early in the morning to teach and came back only in the late afternoon. Emma's hours were scattershot, though she typically spent the daytime hours at the jail or other local haunts. Sometimes Emma stopped by around lunch to check on her, sometimes bringing her a hot meal from a restaurant, but otherwise Isabel spent the day alone.

She got up and dressed. Isabel wasn't quite sure where she would go. It had been a long time since she'd been out in the town. She couldn't quite recall what was there. She'd seen some of it riding back from the hospital in Emma's car, but it had all passed by so quickly that she couldn't really remember it. It took her some time to find the shoes Mary Margaret had brought for her to wear home from the hospital. Wearing shoes after going barefoot so long was uncomfortable, almost making her feel cramped.

She scribbled a note and left it on the dining table.

"Gone for a walk. Will be back in a bit. - Isabel"

She wound a scarf borrowed from Mary Margaret around her neck and then took off for her walk.

It was winter and bitterly cold, but there was little snow. What there was was dirty and plowed up into piles to get it out of everyone's way. Isabel walked along the sidewalk toward the center of town, just enjoying the fresh air.

There were people out and about everywhere, it seemed. A few people nodded to her as she passed. As she walked past storefronts, she would sometimes stop to look inside, but Isabel never went in. She didn't have any money, and she wasn't quite sure she was ready for the basic human interaction needed to deal with clerks and strangers.

In her browsing, Isabel passed a pawn shop. The windows were dingy and the lights low, making it difficult to make out any of the objects inside.

"This is his shop," she realized and pulled away from the windows. If she was afraid to interact with strangers further than a simple nod and a "hello," she was petrified of seeing him again. Isabel had already seen him, briefly. He'd been there when Emma had opened the door to release her from the room. Emma had thrown a blanket around her and spirited her off before he could say a word to her.

Isabel kept walking. She looked in on a bakery and a yarn store. When she came to Granny's diner, Isabel peeked in to see if Emma was there. She was seated at one of the tables, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a copy of the Mirror. Isabel ducked inside to warm up a little bit and say hello to her roommate.

"What are you doing out?" Emma asked. She had that stunned expression which came to her all too easily. Isabel had seen in many times in the few weeks she had been living with Mary Margaret and the Sheriff. A particularly ambitious set of teenage criminals tagging the downtown after hours. Finding Mary Margaret and Isabel on the couch watching a marathon of "I Didn't Know I was Pregnant." An unexpected extra crab rangoon included in their Chinese takeout order. Many things stunned Emma Swan.

"I thought I'd take a walk," Isabel said. "Stretch my legs and see the town a little bit."

"Are you sure you're up to that?" Emma asked as Ruby approached the table with another coffee cup in one hand and the coffee pot in the other.

"And who might this be?" she asked as she set the cup down in front of Isabel, then filled it.

"Ruby, this is Isabel French."

Isabel smiled at the waitress and wrapped her hands around the coffee cup. It was almost too hot to hold.

Ruby, however, did not return the smile, at least not genuinely. She looked to Emma, concerned, before turning back to Isabel with a strained smile.

"Just let me know if you need anything," Ruby said and hurried away.

She could tell that Emma was watching her for some negative reaction, but Isabel stayed calm, blowing on the coffee to cool it off some before she took a sip. It had been so long since she'd drunk coffee, she'd mostly forgotten how it tasted, though the aroma had stayed with her.

"So, going anywhere in particular?" Emma asked.

Isabel shook her head.

"Alright then," Emma mumbled, seemingly out of things to say.

Isabel watched the people and cars passing by. She had expected people to change more than they had. That's what they did, wasn't it? She was supposed to feel like time had moved on without her, but it seemed just the same as when she'd been locked up, save for the addition of Sheriff Swan. Her father was just the same, certainly, and she wondered if Mr. Gold was as well. She wondered if he was still as cruel as she remembered him to be.

They sat in silence, as Emma read the Mirror and Isabel watched the passersby. When Isabel had emptied her mug, she gathered herself together again to leave.

"When will you be home?" Emma asked.

"Later this afternoon," Isabel said. "I'm only going to go a little farther."

"It's a few more blocks west to get to the library. It might not be open, but you can at least go see it. Just do me a favor and promise me that you won't go see your father or Mr. Gold? I don't think your father's ready to see you, and you don't want to be around Gold."

Isabel nodded.

"Don't talk to my father or Mr. Gold. Got it, Sheriff."

Emma was frowning again as Isabel turned away. She knew that Emma meant well, but her prohibition only made Isabel wonder. She had seen her father, if only briefly, and she agreed that they were not ready to talk, but Mr. Gold was another case. He had been so cruel to her, but she couldn't help but to think that there might be some reason behind it.

She walked west, as if headed toward the library, then cut south a block and looped back toward the pawn shop. If he'd kept up his habits, he'd be there behind the counter. His habits had been so regular when she had worked for him. Isabel had teased him about them mercilessly, but Mr. Gold had taken it in stride. As much as his habits had been predictable, his moods had not been.

She had never been able to comprehend his changeability. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the rise and fall of his moods. Some days he was kind, and others he was cruel. She had loved him despite it. And some part of her needed to understand why before she could be out of love.

There was no one at the counter when she entered the shop. Isabel pulled the scarf up close around her face to disguise herself some and meandered among the objects. All manner of objects were collected there. She could hold her hand over some and feel some imagined power from them. She stopped for the longest time to examine an empty bell jar safely tucked away in a curio cabinet.

"May I help you?" asked someone behind her.

Isabel turned to find him there, looking just as he had when she had last seen him. Maybe with a little more scruff, and maybe leaning on the cane a little heavier, but largely the same.

"I hope so."

She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets simply so she wouldn't fidget quite so much.

"Isabel," he said.

For a long moment, he watched her standing there and she watched him, not sure how he would react. Was he glad that he'd rejected her or was there remorse there?

She had her answer when he shuffled forward, forgetting his cane, and wrapped his arms around her.

"Isabel," he repeated.

He held, threading his fingers through her hair and clinging to her, pulling her body tight against his own, with his other arm. Mr. Gold repeated her name, over and over again, brushing his lips against her cheek and burying is face against her neck. Only when he stilled him was she able to free her arms from her pockets.

It was far from the reception she had expected. In her mind, he had either ordered her out of the shop or simply sat there stunned. He'd never been much for displaying his affection and had roundly dismissed all of her attempts. Isabel had not prepared for this, but there she was. They had parted ways with him rejecting her and her love.

She wrapped her arms around him.

"I missed you," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Gold said. "I shouldn't have done it. I didn't know that she had you there."

Isabel shushed him, reaching up to tuck his hair back behind his ears.

"I thought you were dead," he said.

"I almost was," Isabel said.

It had certainly felt that way, alone for so many years. Even now, after weeks of being out, this much contact was dizzying. She wanted for him to let her go so she could go back to Mary Margaret's couch and lay down and forget the world, but she was afraid to ask. He might think that she was rejecting him, and the part of her that still loved him couldn't stand the thought. So she endured the closeness and the pressure of his finger tips on the back of her head.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This is all my fault."

Mr. Gold helped her out of her coat and took the scarf as well and hung them on the coat rack with his own. The pawn shop was just a little bit too cold to be completely comfortable. He'd always said that he kept it cool to preserve some of the more delicate items in stock. Some things never change, she thought as she wrapped her arms close around herself.

He guided her to sit in a chair behind the counter, then hurried to lock the door and turn the sign in the window to read "closed."

Isabel closed her eyes and tried to regulate her breathing like Dr. Hopper had told her. He'd been working with her on ways to manage the stress of over stimulation. Coming from total deprivation into a world full of noise and sound was tiring. Emotions only compounded it, Isabel had learned. She'd slowed her heart rate and cleared her mind some by the time Mr. Gold returned.

He leaned against the counter.

"How are things with Mary Margaret and Emma?" he asked.

He knew where she lived. Gossip was quick to spread in Storybrooke, but she'd thought that Emma and Mary Margaret had done well at keeping her location a secret. Obviously, not from Mr. Gold.

"Fine. It can be a little crowded, but it is quiet and Mary Margaret is a good cook."

"I'm not surprised," he said.

Mr. Gold pushed away from the counter and went into the back room. He came back carrying a chair. Isabel stood to help him, but he shook his head "no." She sat and watched as he struggled the chair over to sit facing her. If she leaned forward, she could take his hands in her own.

"How have you been?" she asked him as he sat down.

"Not well," he said, shifting in his seat, trying to settle into a comfortable position. The one he eventually found just happened to cause their legs to brush when one or the other shifted.

"Is it the shop? Or your health?"

"It wasn't any of that," Mr. Gold said. "I missed you."

"Oh."

"I didn't mean for it to happen that way. I didn't mean for it to happen at all."

At this point he leaned forward to take one of her hands from her lap. Isabel let him. Her face was flushed and she couldn't remember quite how she'd handled situations like this in the past, or if she had at all. She still loved him, but the mingling of love and fear in her mind just left her dazed.

He took her hand in both of his. He enclosed it with his own, keeping it uncomfortably warm.

"You have to understand that I'm not a well liked man. I have no friends, only acquaintances. I'm unused to being loved, and I didn't believe you then. But I believe you now and I'm sorry."

"What changed your mind?" Isabel asked.

"I..."

He paused. Mr. Gold ran his fingers through the spaces between her own, lacing them together.

Isabel felt her face flushing. For all she wanted to pull away, she knew she needed to be brave.

"It did not occur to me until I'd lost you that I loved you."

"Why didn't you do anything?" Isabel asked.

Mr. Gold opened his eyes and stared into hers. They were dark brown, just as she remembered them. She had studied them at length, trying to learn to read him from them.

"I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead," he said.

He hung his head. Isabel couldn't tell if he was crying, but she suspected he was. His grip on her hand was tight. And suddenly the coping tactics that Dr. Hopper had taught her ceased to work. Her chest was tight and she was anxious. It was too much.

"I'm sorry," Isabel said. She pulled her coat and scarf off of the coat rack in haste, tipping it over. Isabel clutched the garments as she fled out into the street. He could follow her, but he could never keep up with her. Even by the time he got in his car, she would be long gone.

But Isabel knew him. He wouldn't follow her. He'd let her go and blame himself.

Isabel passed the next week on the couch. She didn't get up except for the most necessary things. Mary Margaret sat with her and they watched season after season of Cake Boss. Emma even offered to take her to the movies, but she declined.

She blamed herself for what had happened. Dr. Hopper made a house call for their appointment that week. Isabel made them both cups of tea then lay down on the couch again. She told him about the meeting after swearing him to secrecy. Isabel told him that she didn't think she'd been ready, but she'd been too brave for her own good.

"I think I hurt him," she told Dr. Hopper. "And that is what feels the worst. He did all of these terrible things. He rejected me, but now I feel bad for hurting his feelings."

"You obviously care about him a lot, Miss French, but you can't protect his feelings."

"But I want to. He's so hard toward so many people, but not toward me. He said that he loved me," Isabel picked up the afghan she'd kicked to the end of the couch and pulled it over herself. "Isn't it natural to protect the feelings of people who love you?"

"It is... but you're recovering," Dr. Hopper said. "You have to take these things in moderation."

"So what do you recommend?"

"You should probably stay away from Mr. Gold until you're ready."

Isabel nodded and closed her eyes. Somehow, that was no relief.


End file.
